Tightrope
by Omnicurls
Summary: There was one cardinal rule that had stood the test of time: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger despised each other. But when amidst the chaos of the looming war, this mutual hatred becomes the only source of sanity, the two long-time enemies learn that the war that taketh, sometimes also giveth. (Rated M for language)
1. First

"You are the worst being to _ever_ walk this earth!" Her words were harsh but her voice was shaky, and her eyes red from the tears that threatened to fall. She _hated_ how his words could drive her to such an emotional extreme; how, even when she got angry at him, he only elicited this hurt rage that made her clenched fists tremble at her sides.

"And you, are the most insignificant." He said, his voice sharp and hard, his face an unreadable, stony visage. He did not have to say the word for her to hear the condescending word resting in that pause after 'you'. He might as well have spat 'mud-blood' in her face, perhaps then she could have pointed to some concrete reason why his words always cut so deep.

She clenched her jaw till it hurt, willing herself to draw on some unknown reserve. She knew she was not going to cry; the ocean would burn before she ever gave this arrogant piece of work the satisfaction of seeing her cry. "I don't care when you break the rules, but stop interfering with my ability to do my job! You don't take your position as prefect seriously, so just don't stand in my way when I'm trying to do _both_ our jobs!"

"I am not in your way; you are in mine, nuisance." He took a step forward, forcing her to step backwards and press her back against the wall of the small alcove. The only light came from the torches in the hall, and the red-orange glow made his grey eyes look almost amber.

She wrapped her fingers around her wand and lifted it sharply, pressing the tip against the base of his throat. "Please," he said dryly, his words still every bit as sharp, and every bit is chilling, as before, "As though a useless rule-bound Gryffindor like yourself would dare." He looked down at her shaking hand and smirked, "See?"

"I swear on my life if you dare threaten an underclassman into running one of your dirty errands again after curfew, I will remind you what it feels like to be a ferret." Her words would have been so much more effective if only her voice did not shake! Why it insisted on being so weak, she could not for the life of her explain.

"Is _that_ the best you have?" He smirked, "Why don't you grow up and use dark spells like a real adult."

She felt her stomach twist. Here he was admitting to using dark spells with so much pride, as though somehow she were his lesser for being a decent person. No, that was not the only reason he would always see her as beneath him, and that knowledge somehow made her insides twist even more painfully and her eyes began to water again. He grabbed the wrist of the hand that held her wand and tossed it around playfully, "Little Hermione Granger, trying to play with adults, doesn't know where her post it, maybe I should teach her?" it had to be a combination of his condescension and his sing-song tone that seemed to imply she were a toddler, or perhaps it was the sensation of sinking weakness creeping up her chest that drove her to act out, to prove to herself that he did not actually make her weak.

 _Slap._

It echoed through the empty halls. The force from her hand sent his face flying to the side. "Don't you _ever_ dare touch me again." She spat angrily. He snapped his head up and glared at her, and she glared right back. Two chips of ice facing off two bright, burning coals in the dimly lit alcove. Tension lined both their jaws, their breaths, heavy from trying to reign in their tempers, seemed to synchronise in the darkness.

People who thought their public arguments were too much had not seen anything. The always saved the worst for when it was just the two of them conducting rounds, when there were no prying eyes from which to hold back their anger, no friends to tell them when enough was enough, no professors to threaten them with detention. When it was just them, gloves off, resentment blazing with the hellish fire it wrought in them.

He narrowed his eyes dangerously, "And if I do?" his words were suspiciously calm, given what had just happened.

"I will make you regret the day." She said, she desperately tried to match his calm but she had too many emotions, and he had too few.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, as her back was already against the alcove wall she had nowhere to retreat to. He towered over her, his height almost as threatening as his glacial gaze. He took her face in his hand roughly, pinning her head firmly against the wall, he looked deeply into her burning eyes "I dare you." This was where she would hit him again, or try to cast a spell on him. They had run through this so many times that it was almost second nature. But today, someone broke script.

Hands that were supposed to be itching to strangle him were caressing the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her as though she needed him to feel whole. He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her against him. Lips that had said so many hurtful, spiteful things, were locked in a soft, yet desperate kiss as though that was what they were meant for all along. Did he break script, or did she? It did not really matter; all that mattered was the odd sense of relief that seemed to wash over them as the tension that had sparked between them since day one seemed to fizzle away.

Two heavy footsteps had the prefects tearing apart as though the other's touched burned. Hermione's hand could not fly to cover her gaping mouth fast enough. She stared at him in disbelief, and for the first time he looked visibly rattled. He was regarding her with the same surprise she looked at him with. There was no space for words because the moment she found her feet, she fled.

Hermione ran all the way back to her dormitory. Rounds be damned; she had done them more or less solo for the past few weeks; he could finish tonight on his own. She crawled into her bed and pulled the covers over her head. What had she done? She shut her eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything else, but all she could think of was him holding her with those cruel, slender hands. Her stomach in knots so tight she felt as though she was going to retch. She brushed her hands against her waist, willing the phantom feeling of him to disappear, but it remained all too vivid and all too real. Her mouth felt dry and bitter. Sitting up sharply, she pushed the covers off herself and practically sprinted to the bathroom. She needed to brush shower, brush her teeth, perhaps some extra strong mouthwash. She needed to scrub every last ghosting of him off herself.

Draco sauntered back to his dormitory, his carefully blank visage hiding a whirlwind of 'what the fucks' that were desperately trying to explain what had just happened. He did not care much for her; she was Potter's annoying friend useful only for riling up in order to entertain himself. Worst of all she was a mud-blood, sure that term had been losing its weight to him, as he found himself increasingly unable to answer simply questions about what made them so inferior. But still, that did not mean he went around cavorting with them. He ran his hand through his hair as he tried to think. He knew he did not initiate it, and he knew she absolutely hated him so she did not do it either – so what is Merlin's name happened? He paused at the door to the Slytherin dorms, and they seemed to stare at him accusatorial in their calmness. "Come off it Draco." He muttered to himself, casting his eyes downwards because the doors felt too much like they _knew._ He caught sight of a thin brown coil rested across his prefect's pin. A souvenir, courtesy of our lady the high bitch. Thoughtlessly he picked it off and let it drop to the ground. God forbid he bring any part of that nuisance into his house.


	2. Nemesis

It was one of the bad days. His irritation coalesced into an aura so dark that the moment he stepped out of his room and into the common room, every single mouth clamped shut and every limb froze mid-motion. Good that his house-mates had sense, bad for his temper. He pitied the dim Hufflepuff that would cross his path and say something stupidly cheery. Draco strode across the common room, his regal form cutting across the open floor, the dark aura coiled watchfully around him, waiting for a sacrifice to unleash itself upon. Everyone was curious as to what could make their prefect angry to the point of terrifying, yet not a single soul dared whisper the question.

Draco ran his hand over effortlessly tamed hair. He was tired beyond tired; all last night, sleep had eluded him. Instead of rest, he had gotten endless thoughts of his father. It was time to show he deserved the Malfoy name. Time to show he could be there for his line when duty called. His hands were shaking and his clenched them into fists, willing them to stay steady. He would have preferred dreams of Granger, standing in the alcove with her stupidly petulant lips pushing him, daring him. What had transpired between them had cleared his mind of his task for a few precious hours, and given how significant it was, it should have lasted into this morning. He deserved to be a stupid teenage boy with worries no bigger than who he had snogged in the hallways. He hated her for not occupying more of his mind, not giving him the respite he craved. But he also silently thanked his stars for their antagonism, because yesterday had taught him that it could be used to find some peace. He just had to fight her a bit more, work on his project, but think of hurting her. Thinking of all the marvellous ways in which he could use her energy to free his mind. His hands would be on the vanishing cabinet, but his mind would be on fighting her; she took his aggression well, and that could work for him.

She was going to be late. She paced her room, restlessly falling into an old childhood habit of chewing her bottom lip far too hard. It was going to be red and puffed, but she did not care. She had three minutes until she would officially be late. She did not _want_ to be late, but she could not go out there. He would be there with his self-assured smirk. Last night, he had looked just as rattled as she was. But this was Draco Malfoy; today he would be the same composed, arrogant, prick the world knew, and he would have found a way to make her suffer just because she could not pull herself together the way he could. "You're letting him win Hermione. You are better than this. You kissed, so what? You're both grownups, you can handle this." She stopped and squared her shoulders. Of course she could handle this, she was not going to let one stupid incident scare her into ruining her perfect attendance record. She looked at her watch. One minute until she was late; she could still make it.

She ran down the halls and made it to the dining hall just as the last straggle of students made their way through the large double doors. She slowed her paced once she stepped through the doors, and practically stopped dead when she saw Lavender Brown sitting at _her_ table, pressed up next to Ron, most likely cooing over some stupid thing Ron doubtlessly found fascinating as well. Her heart sank heavily into her stomach, and although she was used to this sight it never ceased to ache. Most days she managed to pretend she ignored it, smiled as though the sight of the couple did not burn. But today her mind had been occupied and she had forgotten about them, so she could not steel herself for the sight. She had been caught completely off guard. She teetered on the spot. She knew she had to sit with her friends; she always did. She took a deep breath and composed herself. Tucking a stray lock of her behind her ear, as though that would do anything to tame it, she squared her shoulders for the second time this morning and walked to the table.

She had not noticed him. That was fine. He thought she would reflexively search for him in the hall, he had practically imagine the nervous way her eyes would shift from person to person, until she met his gaze, at which she would instantly flush red and look away. But she had come in, frozen for the briefest of moments, and then quickly put herself back together. Draco's teeth seemed to draw tightly together of their own accord. Something bothered her more than kissing him the night before? What in the seven hells could bother her more than that? And then he saw her brown eyes fixed on Weasley and Brown, and everything slid smoothly into place. In that moment Draco Malfoy decided that Hermione Granger was not half as intelligent as he had secretly thought she was. But that thought did not ease the tension in his jaw from clenching his teeth so hard. Stupid or not, Granger was his nemesis. _He_ was her number one haunt. _He_ was her number one problem. What transpired yesterday should have shaken the very foundations of her world. Her mind should have been too preoccupied with sorting out that chaos, to even remember anyone else existed. His calm rested on a reliance that she be so flustered and guilty that he could tell himself that yes, it was indeed her fault. But she was not even thinking about the alcove, because Weasley had her in a way he could never torment. He was angry again, his mood darkening beyond its frightful hue earlier in the morning. His two friends flanking him shifted away. Blaise's eyes followed Draco's line of sight to see what could have turned his friend so furious that the anger rolled off him in such dark, heavy waves. He was staring at Hermione. ' _Merlin.'_ Blaise thought, ' _just seeing her makes him this mad. One day, they are going to kill each other.'_

She could not stand it one second longer. Malfoy was glaring at her as though he wished to behead her. Ron and Lavender were being, not only inconsiderate and disgusting in their displays of affection, but openly stupid. Ron was trying to speak about arithmancy as though he knew anything, and Lavender was giggling and eating it up because she knew nothing. She was tired of stabbing at her food, tired of listening to them coo, tired of Harry acting as though nothing was wrong. _Everyone_ was driving her crazy. Hermione stood up sharply and, without a word, picked up her books and left the table. "Where are you going?" Harry asked,

"Library." She clipped. An obvious lie; she had herbology in fifteen minutes, and that was across the campus from the library. But she did not care about being believed; she just wanted to be away from everyone. She was too busy storming out to notice Draco standing up, his eyes trained on her like a viper. She stormed and he sauntered, and Blaise and Theodore exchange mildly worried looks. Draco had an air about him that was vicious and furious.

He followed her as quietly as he could. She was doing that fast-paced walk people did when they were trying desperately to reign in their desire to just run. Finally, she slowed her steps, and then she stopped, leaned against the wall, and buried her face in her hands. Was she crying? That would be just pathetic. "Granger."

She practically jumped at the sound of his voice. "Did you follow me?" She demanded, trying to sound indignant, but her eyes were glossy with unshed tears and her bottom lip looked as though she had tried to chew through it. She was a mess. He said nothing, and just continued to look at her. She shifted uncomfortably. "What do you want?"

Again, he chose silence. He merely lifted a single, delicate brow. She shifted again. "Look, if it's about yesterday – "

"So you're not stupid after all." He said in a way that was so _Draco_ that it drove back any residual hurt she felt from the dining hall. Her eyes seemed to dry as they darkened in growing fury. She had a lot of emotions battling to be let out on someone, and Draco was presenting himself as a very tempting target.

"Do not start with me right now Draco." Her voice was hard, a steel warning that she would not be his play thing. Not today.

He resisted the urge to smirk openly. Challenge accepted Granger. "You invaded my space, sullied me with your filth," He was walking towards her. She stood her ground, as he neared he expected her to break, but she did not. She was stared at him with those coal-fired irises, she was daring him again. "Apologise."

She laughed. It was not a nervous laugh, but a hard, bitter sound that he did not enjoy in the least bit. What was she thinking? Why wasn't she breaking? Was she so hurt by Weasley and the girl that she had temporarily lost her mind? He felt a twinge of competitive rage twist in his chest; all he could do was wind her up like she were a toy and watch her blaze and stomp around, and that used to be enough. Until right now; now he understood that Weasley could drive her temporarily insane. He would not be outdone. She was his to torment. Ron did not even need this outlet the way he did.

"No." She said firmly, "Now you're filthy like I am, enjoy it." She was pretending it did not matter because she would die before she caved in front of Malfoy. He did not need to know that she'd buried her face in her pillow and screamed at herself, she did not need to know that she'd spent hours dissecting every word that led to that kiss. All he needed to know, was that she still hated him.

He grabbed her face in his hand, a motion that evoked memories from the alcove so strong that, for a moment, his grip loosened. He composed himself and tightened it, his fingers digging painfully into her jaw and cheeks. He looked deep into the eyes burning with the unfettered rage he knew only he could unleash in 'little ms. Perfect'. But it was not insanity, so it still was not good enough.

Hermione glared back, refusing to back down, and as their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, the craziest idea crept into her mind. What if? Of course she felt nothing but resentment for Draco, but the image of Lavender cuddled up to Ron, and Ron grinning like a proud idiot, caused a moment of madness that made her think ' _I could get back at Ron. It'd hurt him back_.' And just like that, she was thinking of Ron again. Draco noticed her irises lightened as the fire that burned them black died out, and they quivered and began to shine under a film of unshed tears. This was not right; he needed her angry and burning. She was the only one in the school whose fire could match his; and he needed her to distract him more than ever. This crying business was completely out of the question.

He turned his lips up in a sneer and let go of her face. Wiping the hand with which he had touched her on his trousers, he said coldly "At least you know you are filth. We are getting somewhere with you after all." He languidly lifted his eyes from his trousers to her. She was clutching her books to her chest so tightly that he was certain the hardcover edges digging into her chest had to hurt. Her eyes were shut, her cheeks patchy, red, and glistening with fresh tear tracks. Draco watch, increasingly irritated, as tears ran down her cheeks and dripped off her face and onto the books she was holding onto for what looked like dear life. He knew she was not crying because of his words; given all the things he had said to her over their years at Hogwarts, 'filth' was mundane at best. It was Ronald Weasley, and the thought that that ginger indigent could break her in a way he, Draco, never could, was beyond infuriating.

She was burning again. She opened her mouth to say something, but she could not quite find an insult that sounded right. They were looking at each other with an intensity that threatened to teeter either way. In that moment, she realised that she knew the _exact_ shade of his eyes, and the way the irises lightened from the outer rims inwards and from the shockingly dark pupils outwards. Those icy grey eyes, familiar in their hostility. How many times had they stood like this, teetering on the knife-edge between two extremes of intensity?

She struck him and his face jerked to the side. There was hate there, no doubt. But there was also a quiet relief, most likely hidden in the deliberateness of the pause between his words and her reaction. Hermione readjusted the books in the crook of her left hand, turned, and walked away.

She hated Draco Malfoy. Every fibre of her being despised his arrogant, manipulative, sadistic existence. Yet she had left the dining hall feeling enough pain to raw out her insides. She felt like nothing, like no one. She had wanted to do nothing more than curl up and weep. But now she was walking away fired up, ready to show everyone that, muggle or not, she was not to be taken lightly. As loathed as she was to admit it, since their very first year it was the indignant rage he managed to constantly elicit in her that kept her going at what Harry called an 'inhuman' pace. From the very first time Malfoy had sneered at her bloodline, she resolved that she was going to show him. To show them all.

...

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Sorry guys, I've been struggling with the tone of this story, and I tried to make it lighter, but the whole chapter just read wrong, so I'm back to (and sticking to) the more sombre tone it developed. Sometimes the story just runs away from me. _


	3. Co-Dependent

The throngs of gold and red clad students surrounding her burst into excited cheers as time was called. That was it. The game was over, and Gryffindor had won for the second year in a row. She felt pride swell in her chest as Harry and Ron hugged each other on the field. Across from their stands, Slytherin was crying foul. The last ball didn't count. It wasn't fair. Their chaser had been fouled. But their protests were useless, and now were being drowned out by ever louder cheers. She caught the sight of a familiar petulant boy as he stormed off the field. His grip on his broom was so tight that she could almost see the whiteness in his knuckles. "Come on Draco," she said smugly to herself, "don't be such a sore loser."

"Ron!" Lavender's loud voice and even louder clapping cut above everyone else's. Hermione did not want to look, but she just could not help it. They were like a magnet for her eyes; she could not help but stare at them hugging, kissing, holding hands. It was as though her heart wanted to be hurt, perhaps it enjoyed the feeling of knives slicing through the ventricle walls. Lavender practically threw herself into Ron's arms, an embrace her friend accepted readily and happily. Hermione bit on the inside of her cheek so hard that she almost drew blood. She hurried down the bleachers, intent on escaping as quickly as she could. Her heart might enjoy the slow torture, but she really did not want her day further ruined.

"Hermione!" Harry called out, and she had to stop. She turned, forcing herself to smile at him.

"Oh Harry, I'm so proud of you!" She hugged him. She was proud of him, and she really did mean that hug, but her eyes kept drifting back to Ron and Lavender, who was now clinging onto the keeper's arm. They were walking towards her now, and she began to panic. Most days she was fine talking to the both of them, which she had to do because apparently, they were now magically conjoined. But today was a bad day; she was a lot testier and lacked the mental strength the simply push aside her hurt and smile. Today, she was having a bad day and she needed Ron to just hold her. He was not good with words, so he could just shut up and hold her, and let her know that he cared for her in that special way you could only care for one person.

"I'd love to stay and cheer some more, but I have to get back to work. I'll see you in the dorms though!" She said quickly, and then she was off before he could object. Ron reached Harry's side just as Hermione disappeared through the crowd.

"Where did 'moine go?" Ron asked, certain he had just seen her tangle of brown hair with Harry.

"Library. Where else? She said she would see us back in the dorms." Ron looked disappointed at Harry's response, and Lavender could tell. This sat uneasily with her. She did not dislike Hermione in and of herself; she disliked her in relation to her relationship with Ron Weasly. The girl had had years of chances, all of which she had wasted. Now, it was someone else's turn.

Hermione was not thinking about Ron and Lavender. At least not directly. As she wandered around the back of the field, she was thinking about herself and chiding herself for being so weak. It had been a little over a month now; she should be over Ron Weasley enough to be able to stand there and congratulate him even with his new girlfriend draped on his arm. But she could not; he was the first boy she had ever felt her heart go giddy for, and she did not know how to make it stop.

She walked further away from the field, allowing her mind to drift into auto-pilot. Feeling things was too hard. She wished she could shut down for a bit, close everything the way you could close a book and let it rest. She needed a break, but people did not come with reset buttons. This stupid hope, and pitiful sadness would keep tugging at her no matter how deeply she tried to distract herself with work, or anything else.

She was so thoroughly lost in her own mind, that the resounding _'thwak'_ caught her off guard and actually made her jump. Her hand flew into her robe and her nervous fingers wrapped themselves around the end of her wand.

 _'Thawk.'_ It resounded through the forest again. She had not noticed had far away she had wandered, and the rational part of her mind told her to retreat. She probably would have done so, if the third heavy _'thawk'_ had not been followed by a bitterly yelled out 'cunts' by a voice that was more familiar to her than she cared for. Hermione rolled her eyes and let go of her wand.

"You, Draco Malfoy," She said as she walked in the direction of the colourful curses and angry hits, "are such a sore loser."

He paused and looked up, just in time to see her break through the trees and then promptly trip on a root and fall to her knees, her hands splayed out on the soft leaf covered ground, breaking what should have been a full face-plant. He let the broom, which he had been whacking against the tree in a bid to relieve his seething rage, fall to his side and he snapped his head back, whipping the stray locks of hair that had fallen into his face backwards. "I see we are all elegance and grace as usual, Granger."

Hermione rose to her feet and brushed the dirt and leaves off her knees. "Says the child wrecking his broom because he lost a match." She quipped.

Draco was already well and fired up, so that off-hand statement was enough to get him going. "Your filthy house cheated."

"A Slytherin complaining about cheating?" Hermione was enjoying this; for once, he was the one out of control. Calm and collected as he was, the one thing Draco could absolutely not stand, herself aside, was losing.

"Shut up Granger. Don't you have a Weasley to go coo pathetically after?" He took joy in the blanching of her features. She looked as though he had pour iced water over her head. _'Good,'_ Draco though maliciously, _'smug is my territory._ '

"I don't know what you are talking about." She said defensively. Draco, who was about to resume therapeutically punishing his broom against the tree, let his arm drop.

"You are the last person in Hogwarts who can pretend to be stupid. The whole school knows what I'm talking about."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione registered that there had been a compliment in his words. But right now, she was too embarrassed to properly understand the slow shift that it indicated. "So what? It's none of your business."

The tables were slowly turning back into their proper position. He leaned on his broom and ran his hand through his hair, slicking back the strand that had come lose between the Quidditch match and his rage filled pummelling of his broom against an unfortunate tree. "Do you still think you are intelligent?" She looked carefully at him, eyes narrowed with uncertainty. "We all know Weasley is a moron. He's decided to pair himself off with a bigger moron, because who else would acquiesce. But you are still pining after him, so what does that say about you?"

"That's not how it works. And Ron is not a moron." She placed her hands on her hips, defiance etched into her very stance. Her eyes were slowly growing darker and he could not tell whether it was from the waning sunlight, or if she was gearing up for a real fight. "You are trying to get under my skin because you're a sore loser, and you are miserable and want me to be miserable like you are."

"Oh, of course. You are a gracious loser. That is why you constantly glare daggers at Lavender Brown. Just hex her and get it over with."

She never thought the day would come when she would wish Draco would just insult her. Insults stung, but she could tell herself they were not true, or that they were simply his twisted, bigoted opinion. Today he was speaking truth and it was leaving her raw. She considering storming off. He was a sadistic little shit, and she did not have to put up with him. But then he would have won and Merlin, if she did not hate losing as much as he did. If he was going to expose her, then she'd do the same to him.

"Fine. I am still very bitter about it. But you can't judge me; you are just as sore a loser as I am. You hate me because I'm better than you at almost everything and you know it." With every word she stalked towards him, until she was standing right in front of him, her index finger pressed triumphantly into the centre of his chest.

Draco laughed. It was his attempt to make her feel stupid, but Hermione had class ranking to support her assertion that she did always beat out for top of the class at almost every single course. She had never really considered it until she said the words out loud, but now it made perfect sense. Why else would she be his preferred person to torment, instead of Harry?

"You live in the corner of the library. You have a total of two, perhaps three or four, friends if you count Longbottom and the crazy Ravenclaw. I don't need external validation, so I can have a real life. This is me when I am not even trying, this is you at your very best."

"Excuses." Hermione said, her voice was resolute. This was a line she had heard repeatedly. "Perhaps I do work harder than you do, but what matters are results and I have them."

He looked down at the finger pressed to his chest, and then up at her brown eyes shining with triumph. His hand rose, wrapped itself around her wrist and pulled her hand away from him. "I do not recall giving you permission to touch me."

"Merlin, forbid I sully his highness." Hermione said, she tried to pull her hand out of his grip but he was holding on too tightly.

He was looking at her with calculated ice, and for the first time she was truly uncertain. He could laugh at her, or attack her; the odds felt about the same. Her free hand snaked towards her wand hidden amongst her robes, but he caught her other wrist even without looking down. "I'm tired of you Hermione." When he finally spoke, his words felt like ice against her spine. He used her given name and it made her feel even more uncomfortable; at least 'Granger' kept them at a respectable distance. "I'm truly tired of you."

"I didn't follow you." Hermione said, her words more confident that she felt. He was scaring her, for real this time. "I just needed to get away, to think. I can't help it that I ran into you."

"You should have left when you saw me. Do I look like I am in the mood for this bullshit right now?" And in the edges of his words, she could feel his tiredness. Something was _off_.

She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. She should have left. Given how much she hated him, it stood to reason that she would have turned immediately and avoided all contact with him. But she had not wanted to. She had wanted this fight so he would distract her, so he would give her the attention no one else seemed to have for her. She hated him, yes. But some part of her needed him; he made her feel important, necessary almost. "I'm sorry."

As soon as she spoke those words his hand flew to her face, holding it both firmly and delicately. This gesture was becoming uncomfortably common. Draco was cracking and he could not stop himself; it was the Quidditch match he both cared about and detested. He'd lost because his mind was not on the game; it was elsewhere, it was scared and panicked. It was with his father and Voldemort. It was with her; distracting him in an essential moment before he lost his mind, and now peddling back and saying sorry. He needed her anger, he needed her resentment, he needed something that felt normal. "Stop it. Don't change." It sounded like a plea and Hermione found herself unable to move or process what he meant. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. She was still frozen by shock. Draco pressed his forehead against hers and let his eyes fall shut, "Just leave this one thing the way it is."

She wanted to ask if he was alright, but that was a stupid question because he clearly was not. Something was bothering him; something deep enough, and heavy enough to reduce the proud Slytherin. He was not telling her what it was, but he turning to her, relying on her. He did not have to say it; Hermione could feel him trying to draw strength from her. He needed her.

She felt important.

She felt wanted.

Hermione gently extricated one hand from his grip, which she then placed comfortingly on his shoulder. She expected him to snap back and glare at her, call her 'filth' 'mud-blood', curse her for daring to sully his person. But instead he placed his hand on hers. Hermione did not know what to think, so she just – for the first time in her life – let her mind go completely blank, and she stood there, a silent bastion.

He was a Malfoy man; he did not need support, or help. He was more than fit for any task that could be asked of him. Or so the world was to believe. What he had to do, this time, was too much for his teenage shoulders, for any shoulders, really. She removed her other hand from his grip and wrapped her arms around him in a hug that was equal parts desperation and concern. A normal Draco Malfoy would have pushed her away and threatened to hex her for even daring to think of touching him, but this broken boy simply leaned into her and it scared the words right out of her.

"Draco..." She finally found her words again, but he stopped her.

"Don't." his voice was firm enough to speak the words he could not be bothered with right now. If she spoke, this moment, his weakness, would become real, and he would have to pull away with all the disgust he was supposed to feel towards her. He could stand here and draw strength from her because neither of them would dare tell a single soul what was transpiring; they would never even repeat it to themselves. And as long as they would never dare speak of it, then it was not _truly_ happening. A better person might have pressed on; Draco was obviously distraught, and it would be better if he confided in someone. But she was enjoying being needed, and if she were to be too much herself and press on, she would lose this one moment of significance.

He held her tighter and partly buried his face in her mess of brown curls, allowing his brain to short circuit due to the insanity of what he was doing, and giving him a moment of peaceful silence. There were no more thoughts of his father, of the 'Malfoy burden', of death eaters counting on him. There was just his teenage brain screaming that he was crazy, this was Granger – bookish, insufferable, twat of a Gryffindor. But he did not mind, because this screaming he could handle.


	4. Keep It Simple

He used to have good days, but now he just had bad days and worse days. Today was a terrible day. She knew he was pale, but today he looked like death warmed over. His skin was dry and sallow, his eyes simultaneously glassy and flat. "Merlin, Malfoy, are you all right? You look awful."

"I guess we finally match then." He said without missing a beat. Hermione blinked slowly as she considered whether to take offense. This time she chose not to; he looked too haggard for her to pick a fight.

"You look sick. You should go to bed, I can do the rounds on my own." She said as courteously as she could. Of course she could; more than half the time he simply refused to show up for his prefect duties. She had stepped into the prefect office fully expecting it to be empty.

"You are not my mother, Granger."

"I'd sooner die than ever have a child like you." She said, giving up on him for the time being. She reached into her bag and pulled out three neatly rolled sheets of paper. "Here." She shoved them into his face as gracelessly as possible. He looked up at her from the old leather seat, his unspoken question clear in the less than subtle lift of his eyebrows. "It's the transfiguration homework for tomorrow. You've missed two already."

Draco sat up slowly, not quite knowing what to do with this new situation. "You did my homework for me?"

His previously flat eyes were now alive and shining, it made her strangely uncomfortable. She had fought herself all day, wondering whether to give it to him. She had written it out during study hall, when Ron and Lavender were cooing into each other. It was had been her distraction. Draco was showing up to fewer and fewer classes, he was falling behind, getting in trouble. He needed her to help him keep pace, and if she wanted to help – out of the pure goodness of her heart, of course - that meant she did not have time to think about Ron or Lavender. She had written out his transfiguration homework, and then the runic translations that would be due in two days. Then she had begun on study guides for the classes they shared.

Draco stood up. Somehow his wan state made him even more intimidating, perhaps because he looked so ghostly. He threw the papers in her face, "I don't need your pity Granger." He pushed past her and made his way towards the door.

Hermione snapped her eyes to the ceiling in frustration before gathering the fallen sheets and following him out the door. "I'm just trying to help you Draco. I know you won't tell me what is wrong, but I know something is wrong. You don't come to class anymore, you quit quidditch, you don't even bother to prance around abusing your prefect status. It's not you."

"And you think you know me? You think we are 'friends'?" His words were hard and condescending,

"I'm not stupid Malfoy, I know we are not friends."

Draco slowed his quick, massive strides, and Hermione finally caught up. He wheeled around to face her, in the light of the torches, his ashen features looked as though they had been carved from stone. "We are not. I despise your very existence. I have since the very first year of Hogwarts. I hate you Hermione Granger, and you hate me." He stepped closer to her. Previously, she would have stepped back to restore the distance between them, but of late she had grown to enjoy these moment of uncertain intensity. She found an odd sense of exhilaration in the way her heart between quickened in anticipation when he stood a mere breath away from her, staring directly into her eyes and giving her unhindered access to what lay behind those steeled chips of ice he called eyes. It was like playing with fire. He could kiss her, like that first time, or he could draw his wand on her – it was a tossup. She, of course, already had her hand on her own wand.

"Stop putting words in my mouth."

"So you don't hate me?" He challenged.

Hermione folded her arms stubbornly across her chest, her eyes never once leaving his. This was not a 'who would break first' type of fight day; it was a 'who was right'. And she knew she was; she was always right. "Of course I do. You're an insufferable prat, and I've hated you since day one… I just can't bring myself to act like it when you look like you are falling apart."

Draco regarded her for a moment. There was a softness in her voice that irritated him. She was changing things; trying to be 'nice'. He did not need sympathy; he needed the familiar. "Don't start channelling your inner Weasley and acting like an idiot." His voice was hard as ice and uncomfortably void of tone or inflection, in combination with his sallow features it called to easily to her mind Harry's recent accusations that he was a death eater. Perhaps in this moment she would have believed it, were his eyes not bright and alert with the same vivacity she had known since their first year at Hogwarts.

"So you, Draco Malfoy, king prat of 'I'm better than everyone at everything', are just letting your grades and looks go to shit because it's in fashion now?"

He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake the smug sarcasm out of her voice. "Everything is going to shit. What is the point in pretending that I'm somehow unusual? Hogwarts is a mess, there is a war out there that's dragging us into it no matter how much we'd rather _not_. We all have to do horrible things, to people we don't even hate – just because we have to. What is the point in pretending that there is any sanity left? Or that Quidditch or fucking classes matter? Do you think I care, in the slightest, about fucking transfiguration?"

Do horrible things? She placed her hand in what was supposed to be a reassuring gesture on his arm, but it just fuelled his annoyance. She was looking at him with liquid brown eyes, pitying him, saying silently that she could save him from whatever was ailing him. He wanted to hit himself for being stupid and saying far too much. He shrugged her off, "Would you drop the saintly act? Everything is gone to shit. The only normal thing left is this" he waved his hand through the air between them. "We hate each other for no good reason, like childhood nemesis do. We did when we were little and had no idea of the war that was brewing, and somehow, we still have this. We still have this _one_ normal thing. Here we are not fighting for some bullshit ideology, not fighting because we actually want to kill each other; we are fighting just because we want to, like normal people do. We want to see each other miserable, not dead, or truly hurt. This is normal – don't ruin it, Granger."

She opened her mouth to say that he was wrong; she did not want to see him miserable. Right now, he looked every inch the definition of miserable, and it bothered her far more deeply than she would every have imagined it could. But he had said something that picked at her even more sharply: he claimed there was no ideology in their fights, "We do fight for ideology. We fight because you think I'm filthy."

"You are stupid, after all." Draco said in the same tone he would have said as mundane a fact as 'it is raining'. Hermione began to turn red with anger – how this bastard could turn her unquestioning sympathy into rage had to be a talent. He did not actually need her, save as a punching bag to let out his sadistic anger. She was not really wanted, or needed as herself; he needed an old nemesis to make him feel as though things were normal, and in that case even Harry or Ron would do. She just happened to be the one around.

"You say it yourself all the time, you call me filthy, a stain on wizardry…"

Draco was beginning to find this attempt at some emotional exchange tiring. It was going on far too long and reminded him too closely of things he specifically sought her out to forget, but most tiring of all, was that he was getting nowhere with her. If he really saw her as the filth he claimed to, if he truly still believed that her blood was impure, would he have ever left himself turn to her for support? She was supposed to be intelligent, but trust Granger to be disappointing. "I hate you, Granger, because you are an insufferable know-it-all twat with an equally vexing saviour complex. Nothing more, nothing less." He looked up and down the hallway, thought for a brief moment – ignoring her incredulous staring, and then said, "Go left, I'll go right and we meet back here in an hour." With that he walked away as though they had not exchanged more than a curt 'hello'. But that was the theme of their relationship: these exchanges never truly happened.

…

She stood in the hallway, waiting. He said they would meet in an hour, but it had already been an hour and fifteen minutes and he was still nowhere to be seen. Hermione huffed indignantly; he had probably just gone to bed. But she could not blame him for that; he looked like he had not slept in weeks. She turned and began to head for her dorm but changed her mind. She needed to think; to work out what could be bothering Draco. Her insides gnawed at her as they insisted that Harry was right, perhaps he was a death eater now. But his behaviour towards her, this year more so than any other, contradicted that belief. No one committed enough to Voldemort's cause to become a death eater, would fraternise with her – not even in secret. She marched up the stairs, her resolve to help that stubborn prat of a Slytherin no matter how much he resisted. She would find out what was wrong, she would help him, and then he'd be forced to admit that he had needed her.

She walked past the room of requirement, her mind trying hard to focus on a study whilst pushing out thoughts of Draco. The last thing she needed was for the room to lead her to his dorm. On the third walk she stopped and opened the door.

The room was chilly, but there was a fire burning, slowly warming the air. There was a long wooden table with books splayed open, blank paper, a quill with ink dripping on a half-used sheet of paper, and a silvery blonde head rested on a black-clad arm. Hermione closed the door gently behind her. Asleep, his washed out features might have looked innocent, almost angelic, were it not for the deep furrow of his brows and the way his pupils shifted rapidly beneath his closed lids. She walked towards the desk, careful not to make any noise. Peering at one of the books she read, _'Magical Artefacts through the Ages'_. She wracked her brain for what class this year might require this reading, and came up blank. He shifted in his sleep, groaned as though in pain. His brows furrowed deeper and he buried his face in the crook of his arm, but not before she saw what she was certain was the faint twinkle of tears beneath his dark lashes. She instinctively placed an arm on his shoulder and shook him gently, "Malfoy?"

At this slight disturbance, his flew into alertness and reeled away from her so quickly that he unbalanced his chair and fell over. In his panic he reached for anything, and caught her robes, pulling her down with him. Hermione fell over him, striking her hip painfully against the edge of the toppled chair. He pushed her away, "leave me alone, just fucking leave me alone!" He worked his way out of their tangle of robes, trying to put distance between them, hoping she would not see or hear the tears he could not control. He hated sleeping; sleep always brought the worst nightmares and he always woke in panicked tears. No one was supposed to see him like this; trust her to barge into his safe space and ruin everything.

"Malfoy," she said, her voice slowed by heavy concern, she moved slowly towards him.

"Stay the fuck away from me. What are you even doing here? Did you follow me?" He spat his accusations, as he hurriedly tried to wipe away the tears that refused to stop. It was futile, like his task, like his life, like his stupid attempt to save his father. He was being set up to fail by everyone.

"Draco." This time she spoke in her no-nonsense tone. He looked at her with eyes the colour of sea-breeze. In that moment he looked so fragile it made her heart hurt. This was not ok; this was not Draco the unshakable twat, this was a frightened boy suffering alone. She crawled towards him, and then wrapped her arms around him. She expected the beginnings of a fight, but he simply slumped into her, clinging to her robes as if for dear life.

"I can't do it. I can't. I'm going to die-" he let himself fall apart and it was simultaneously the most painful and meaningful thing she had ever seen.

"You're not going to die." She said firmly. Her stern assertion as much as reassurance to herself as to him.

"I will. I will fail, and I will die. My whole family is going to die because I'm fucking useless."

"Draco, you have to talk to me. I can't help if I don't know what is going on."

"You can't help me. You wouldn't want to." He balled his hands into fists, crumpling the fabric of her robes in his grip, "I needed that stupid luck potion more than Potter ever could. I can't make it on my own."

"For what?"

He buried his face in her shoulder, "It's pointless now."

"Draco, you have to talk to someone."

He said nothing, he simply sat on the ground beside her, his face still hidden in her robes. That was all she was going to get from him, one moment of panicked weakness. Hermione ran her hand gently through his hair until his tears seemed to subside, then she helped him to his feet. There was a bed near the fireplace. She was certain it had not been there when she first entered, and was another intuitive guess by the room. She led a ghostly Draco to the bed, removed his slytherin pin and cape, and folded them at the foot of the bed. He wordlessly slid into bed and turned away from her. Hermione looked at her looked time nemesis. She understood him now; she too wanted to go back to when their pointless fights were just that – pointless fights, rather than some desperate attempt to hold onto a lost childhood. She turned to leave. She took all of two steps when he spoke, softly but clearly, and heart breaking in his desperation. "Stay. Please."

She should have said no. But how could she? He had just shown her a weakness he would have died before he ever admitted to. How could she turn down someone in their moment of such dire need? She sat on the bed beside him and immediately he curled into her, burying his face in fabric of her robe. He was literally all bones. Hermione shifted and rested his head in her lap. "I didn't do your homework because I pity you. I'm worried about you, and that's normal too."

"Then it's won. It would have taken everything from me, even my enemies."

"Or you could look at it as having given you a friend?" Hermione tried to reason. But he was not in the mood for reasoning. There was a tenderness in this moment that made him want to turn his head and look at her. But he could not bring himself to; if he looked at her, he would be accepting this moment as real. His head in her lap and her fingers raking soothingly through his hair would all become officially part of their story. He could not let that happen.

"No. This is all that is left of our younger selves."

Hermione sighed and gave up. She did not have the heart to point out that this relationship was far from the one their younger selves shared. "Go to sleep Draco, you look like death."

"At least sleep will help _my_ looks." He said, sounding a little bit more like himself. She jabbed him in the side with her elbow and he laughed. It was a good sound, a happy sound, and sweet relief from his usual ice.

"You're such an arse." She said, her fingers still running soothing lines through his fine, silvery hair.


	5. Heroine

She slammed her books down so hard on the library table that she herself jumped a little. An impatient shushing from two bookcases away caused her to shrug, and lower her head in shame. Hermione bit her bottom lip so hard that she thought she might draw blood. He mocked her. In class. In front of everyone. He rose his voice into a high pitch and mocked her answering a question he could not. She had forgotten to raise her hand and wait to be called on, so what? She had gotten a little bit impatient because the class was so terribly _dull_. She wanted it to be over, everyone wanted it to be over. It was the last question before they would be let out, so why had he taken it so personally?

She pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes and willed the tears to stay just a glossy sheen. "Don't you dare cry." She whispered harshly to herself.

It was not just the mocking, although that had stung like a punch to the gut. It was that she did not wait to walk to class with them anymore, she thought they would notice but they had not. When they sat huddled in the Gryffindor common room talking about whatever plans they were hatching this time, she did not wander over to make sure it was idiot proof, and they had not noticed her absence there either. She had quietly let herself slip out of their lives and they had not even cared enough to notice, talk less of ask her why.

Was she invisible? Was that it now? No. If she were invisible, Ron would not have seen or heard her to mock her in front of everyone. Most of the class had sniggered; it made sense, they probably believed that if Ron was the one making the joke, then it was all right. She had put on a brave face and rolled her eyes at him, but she would be dammed if it had not taken all she had not to break down right there.

She slumped into the seat, chin defeatedly on her chest, and fisted the fabric of her uniform skirt. She took deep calming breaths. She would absolutely not let herself cry. She let go of her skirt and did her best to calmly smooth out the wrinkles she had twisted into the fabric. She gathered herself. As she did so, her mind choice to drift pass calm, and into the room of requirement. She could still feel his hands holding onto her as if she were life itself, and his quiet acquiescence when she helped him to his feet. She could hear, clear as she had heard that impatient hush, him softly asking that she stay. In that moment, her hurt from Ron and Harry's neglect felt small, irrelevant. Amidst Draco's panicked assertion that he was going to die, everything else seemed small now.

It was as though some unknown force shifted her entire being into gear. The hollow hurt that had beat in her chest just moments before vanished, and left in its place a jittery urgency. She brushed her hair out of her face, unshed tears instantly forgotten, and hurriedly pulled her books out of her bag. Thanks to Draco incessantly truancy, she had twice as much homework to do, not to mention weekly study guides of the topics covered. She hated the prat, but she did not want to see him fail, and after witnessing his break down first hand, she could not bring herself to blame him for missing class. Draco would die before he broke down like that in front of anyone; that he had meant that whatever he was facing was truly a matter of life and death. Lavender and Ron, Ginny slowly taking her place between Ron and Harry, all that meant nothing in the face of the death of an entire family.

She had just opened her books and began reading the assignment for transfiguration class when she heard Ron unmistakable attempt at a whisper which always came off too loud and too easily overheard. Hermione felt her blood run cold. He was the last person she wanted to see right now; the hurt of his betrayal in class was too fresh. She found herself re-reading the same line for the third time. She was too focused on appearing unperturbed by his presence to actually focus on her work. "Hermione," it was Harry who addressed her first. "Are you mad at Ron? He didn't mean to make fun of you."

She clenched her jaw till it throbbed. No, of course he did not mean to make fun of her, he had actually meant to praise her and mockery just happened to slip out. Happened all the time, really. She was not even surprised that Harry was taking Ron's side; she was, after all, just an accessory. A librarian when they needed someone to do the heavy reading; once the wizarding world caught up to google, her services would be obsolete and then they could go on and completely forget about her. "I'm not infantile enough for that to bother me. Class was dragging on and I was getting bored." She shrugged. Either she did too good a job of pretending she was not hurt, or the boys were complete idiots. Either way, they accepted her words as truth and the biting tone as typical Hermione talking down to them.

"Told you there was nothing to apologise for." Ron muttered, and then he turned and left. Harry looked at Hermione, her head was down and she seemed to be reading intently. What she was really doing was hoping desperately that he would sit with her without her eyes having to beg for company. He did not.

She sat reading the same line over, and over again until she heard them exit the library. Blinking hard, she fought back the tears of loneliness. Friendship was not meant to be this hard nor this painful. She stood up quickly, nearly toppling her chair in the process, and threw her books into her bag. Clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her nails dug into the flesh of her palm, she walked briskly out of the library.

She was not quite sure where her hurt was taking her, until she found herself standing in front of the room of requirement. She weaved down the hallway and up the stairs, completely oblivious to her destination, and now she stood staring down the door. She never thought the day would come, when she would be looking for Draco to make her feel a little less useless. ' _Study_ ' she thought, as she walked past it, turned, and walked again. She was consciously thinking study, but not too far back in her mind she was asking for Draco.

She opened the door and stepped into a familiar study. Draco lifted his head from the piles of paper surrounding her and looked at her with open irritation. "What are you doing here, Granger?"

She felt small again. Standing in front of the room of requirement, remembering the way he had leaned into her for comfort, she felt needed, important. Now under his stony gaze, she felt just as small as she had in the library. Except this time she knew how to deal with it. Whilst Draco had spent their school years making her feel small, Hermione had spent the years learning to stand her ground in front of the arrogant prick and never letting him see how deeply he hurt her. "I needed a place to study. You don't own this room." She said as she strode into the room and set her bag confidently on the desk.

"Hogwarts has a library." He was still glaring at her, willing her to disappear from his space.

"I'm avoiding people." She pulled out a chair and sat down. She looked him dead in the eyes as she did so.

Draco dropped his quill and laced his fingers together in a strangely disquieting motion, "Weasel and Potty?" Her guard slipped for the briefest of moments, but that was enough for him to see the hurt she had been trying so hard to pretend she did not feel. Draco had been in that class too, he had seen the others laugh at her, he had read the anger and pain in her strides as she pushed past everyone to exit the class first. _'So much for Gryffindor loyalty'_ He had thought, and then quickly dismissed the entire incident from his mind. Until now. "You on your infamous high-horse, I am awed that you take the opinion of morons so personally."

"I don't care, Malfoy." But the strange patience with which she took to enunciate the word 'care' betrayed her true emotions.

"Yes you do 'care'." He mocked her intonation and she narrowed her eyes at him in a warning glare. He was not really in the mood to fight with her, but she was the one who had come into his space; she had brought this upon herself. And if he were being completely honest with himself, he was afraid because she had come to the room of requirement. They had an unspoken agreement that some of the things that transpired between them did not actually occur; they were moments of weakness that were never meant to be spoken of or even acknowledged. They fell into blackholes in their past and simply disappeared. That night in the room of requirement when he had cried into her, was one of those blackhole moments. So, when she walked into his room of requirement today, it felt as though she were acknowledging that night, dragging it from the lip of the black hole, and letting it change things. He needed to put up walls, to stop her from thinking it was acceptable to dredge up those phantom moments.

"You care that they don't really need you; you are kind of useless in that little golden trio you had for a while." If she heard him, she did not react. Instead, Hermione kept her head down and focused on her work.

"Weasley's family is involved in the war because, unfortunately, they are pure-bloods. Harry is the chosen one, and you are just… extra." Hermione ignored him and simply kept writing.

"They figured it out too, didn't they? And now you're just tailing them, hoping they'll shine some of that significance your way. It must really suck being the side-kick with a hero complex." Still not so much as a glance from her.

"You are not even the love interest. You really just where a place holder until the Weasley girl got old enough to tag alone their adventures." Still nothing. It was like talking to wall. "What happened? Harry figured out how to use a library index and doesn't need his bookworm anymore?"

He was bored now. If she had told him to shut up, or given any sort of reaction, he would have gleefully continued. But she just kept working, head bowed, quill scribbling away, as though his voice was not even carrying over to her. "You're such a fucking bore." He said as he turned to his own work, looking through old texts for anything that could help him figure out the vanishing cabinet.

Draco was deep into his researching, frustrated by his constant encountering of nothing but dead ends, when Hermione pushed a few sheets of paper into his line of visions. "This week's homework and study guides." She said flatly. He picked up the papers and looked at the neat, careful handwriting, all he would have to do was copy out the answers and hand them in as his own.

"You're really making this a thing now?"

"You seem to have a lot bothering you. I don't understand what it is, but I still want to help." Her voice was still empty and flat, void of any of that smug self-righteousness he had come to associate so tightly with her that he could no longer truly separate the two. Except now she had separated them for him, and he did not like the result. He looked up at her, but her head was bent over her bag as she hurriedly packed up her books, so he could not quite see her face.

He looked back at the papers and traced three small raised patches that indicated they had once been wet. She had been crying. Not a raging, wet hurricane that screamed 'fuck you' like he would have expected, but quiet pathetic sobs. It was pitiful; a glaring display of her weakness. The fun in Hermione was that she did not break; she was the toy you could toss around, drag through mud and dirt, and still have it working as smoothly and beautifully as the day you first got it. This crying was her breaking down and it was pathetic. He should have sneered at her weakness, but he could not find it in himself to. Instead, he found himself struggling to fault her.

Could he really blame her for a moment of weakness when not long ago he had been the one breaking down, and in a much less elegant fashion? He had begged for her company, and she had given it along with the unspoken assurance that that moment was not truly occurring. If he deserved those phantom moments, then of course she did as well? Was she really being weak?

Yes.

Yes, she was.

She did not have the future of her family resting on her shoulders; she was not tasked with either killing the so loved Dumbledore and making a monster out of herself, or practically guiding the Dark Lord's murderous wand to her own parents, and then onto herself. She was crying because her friends were ignoring her. Big fucking deal. _'Weak'_ he told himself. But deep down he found himself asking, so what? She is a child too, they should be weak, and over stupid things like this – wasn't this the 'normal' he was looking to her to bring into his fucked-up world?

Another realisation annoyed him far deeper than his inability to fault her for her weakness. It was the infuriating understanding that again Weasley had hurt her in a way he never could. He had, in a few short weeks, accomplished Draco's life-long goal of bringing the smug-little pain-in-the-ass down a few pegs and making her cry. He had made her life miserable in a way Draco had only dreamt of achieving. Ronald Weasley, chief git, was out-doing him as her nemesis. He was trying to take this away from him. Draco frowned, his lips turning down into an angry, bitter scowl. They were not going to stop till they took everything from him, were they?

He watched her retreating figure. Carefully took in the weak slope of her shoulders. The realisation washed over him like the calmest, clearest thought he had ever had. He was afraid to lose her companionship. Painful as her existence was to endure, it was all he had left of his childhood, where he innocently hated her because she was annoying. There were no death plots there, no torture spells designed to wring out obedience and fear, there were just two children who thought the other was a disgusting twat. If he kept taking from her and giving nothing back, she would leave. Any sane person would leave. And then what would he have? Just his own thoughts, and if he were left alone with them Draco Malfoy was certain he would lose his mind.

"Hermione," He stood up. She whipped around at the sound of him calling her by her actual name. She was not certain she could recall him ever calling her by her given name. "Thank you." Her eyes widened in open disbelief. Draco tapped the papers she had passed to him, "I did not even know we had been assigned homework."

She smiled a soft, unguarded smile. She had a rather pretty smile, made tragic by the fresh tears on her cheeks. He had never quite noticed because in their first year those teeth had always been in the way, and he had not bothered to revise his opinion of her since. Today, he noticed her smile was quite acceptable.

He was good at reading people, but she never even bothered to try to hide anything. She was practically screaming for recognition, for appreciation. It did not take much to give. She quickly shifted into her more familiar self-satisfied grin. "I know you won't tell me what you're so worried about, but if you ever need help. Just ask."

"Or I won't, and you'd go ahead and help anyway." He teased. It was a rare, good-natured jab that kept the smile on her face. It was his payment for her antagonism.

"Woe is me for trying to be nice."

Draco sat back down but kept his eyes on the slowly brightening girl, "Yes, woe is you."


	6. Favours

**Favours**

Hermione stirred her cup slowly. She used the low clink of silverware against porcelain as a sort of timer, and a source of entertainment beyond Cormac's dull bragging about his Quidditch skills. She had asked Cormac to the Christmas party in hopes of spiting Ron, but she had only succeeded in hurting herself because she could not remember the last time she was so thoroughly bored by a conversation this pitiful. She was nodding and 'hmming' her way through the night, and Cormac seemed not to even notice her lack of interest.

She kept looking over at Harry, hoping she would find some excuse she could use to escape Cormac painful attempt at conversation. He was so full of himself, and in the worst possible way. Draco was full of himself as well, no one would ever doubt that, but at least he seemed to have some depth to his personality beyond arrogance. There were things, she could imagine, she would enjoy speaking to him about. She was yet to have a civil conversation with him, but she could just tell that Draco had things of interest to share. Time seemed to drag on, and when Hermione was positive she was going to snap and ask Cormac to shut up, a slight girl came up to him, distracting him for a moment and given Hermione her much prayed for means of escape.

She cut across the room was quick, purposeful strides and quickly hid herself in the back, closer to the curtains. She was looking around for a corner into which she could disappear and from there quietly slip out, when Harry spotted her and approached her.

"What are you doing?"

She nearly jumped. She had not noticed his approach. "Trying to escape."

"Escape?"

"I came with Cormac, thinking that it would upset Ron but it turned out to be not worth it at all." Hermione said. In the end she had just punished herself.

"Cormac? McLaggen?"

"I know, I know. It was not my best idea." She said, reading the amused disbelief in Harry's voice.

"Well it will annoy Ron."

"And, apparently, me as well." Her voice was a resigned groan. She was big enough to admit to her mistake, and Cormac had certainly been one of them. But she would never admit to a single soul that she had considered asking Draco, it would have been perfect if there existed a chance he would agree to be seen in public with her, and if the whole school would not have a cow were that to happen. It was a nice thought, but only ever that – just a thought.

"We haven't really talked in a while, where have you been?"

Hermione clutched her cup tighter and rubbed her index finger along the rim. She was about to make up some lie about being too busy, which in a sense she had, when she heard Draco's voice from across the room,

"Let go of me."

She looked in his direction just in time to see him wrench his arm out of Filch's grip.

"Caught him snooping around outside." Filch said proudly. Hermione saw Draco snap his head to the side to glare darkly at Filch before turning to regard the entire room that had fallen silent to watch him. "Gate-crashing." Filch added, still in that self-satisfied tone.

"Well," Slughorn began. Hermione saw it all before it happened, Slughorn being 'magnanimous' and allowing the poor, gate-crashing Malfoy to stay. Draco would never let himself sink to gate-crashing anything; it would be accepting that he was not good enough to be invited into a social group he wanted to be in. But she also knew that his recent secretiveness might drive him to lowly accepting that yes, he was gate crashing. He looked lost, watching the impending blow to his over-sized ego. It was about time; Draco had spent his entire life walking around as though he lived in a universe above everyone else, it was time Draco was brought down to reality for once. But not this Draco; right now he was too lost, too stressed, and suffering far too much for him to have to deal with such public humiliation right now.

Hermione caught his gaze, and he stared at her with sea breeze coloured eyes and before she could stop herself, Hermione was stepped forward, announcing, "He wasn't gate crashing. He was looking for me."

If the room could fall any quieter, it would have. Like everyone else, Draco looking at her with incredulity, but whilst everyone was surprised at her statement, he was more surprised at her stupidity. "We got into a fight this afternoon, and I got carried away and hexed all his books so they turned blank." Hermione took a deep breath, hoping they would accept his silly explanation. "He told me he had tests to makeup and needed it unhexed, and I told him to either apologise or un-hex them himself." She had actually spent the entire night carefully making him study guides; it kept her in the library and away from having to see Ron and Lavender together. Hermione looked squarely at Draco, "You came to apologise?" She asked, doing her best to sound as much herself as possible.

He had two choices; play along with her silly lie, or say he was gate-crashing. Both were humiliating options, but she was just slightly less humiliating. "I've never apologised for anything in my life." He snapped at her.

"Clearly." Hermione drawled,

"Remove your stupid hex. I have things to do."

"No. Seeing as I am 'not even a real witch', you should have no trouble with it."

"Granger." Draco was about to stalk towards her, when a firm hand clasped over his upper arm,

"Mr. Malfoy." Snape's disturbingly smooth voice said, "A word."

Draco looked at Hermione, who was doing her best to hold her glare, and then turned to follow Snape out.

"You hexed his books?" Harry sounded as though he was trying not to laugh. "That's the most Hermione revenge I have ever heard of."

"He deserved it." Hermione said, relaxing into her lies once she saw that no one was asking deeper questions. Except Luna was staring at her with the her seemingly unnaturally bright eyes, and her head tilted slightly. _'Don't. Don't. Don't say anything._ ' Hermione mentally pleaded with the girl, she did not take Luna seriously very often, but there was something about the Ravenclaw that made Hermione feel bare every time she looked at her.

"You know, you and Draco's fighting is going to go down in Hogwarts history. You two could be the symbols of Gryffindor and Slytherin." Hermione felt her heart sink as Cormac's voice sounded in her ear. Her little 'stunt' had drawn all the attention to her, and he had found her again. Lovely.

Hermione lingered around slightly longer, and then quietly slipped out. She stepped into the hallway and looked up and down, half hoping to see Draco but knowing there was no way he would be still lingering there.

"Ms. Granger." Snape seemed to materialise out of the shadows. The potions master was terrifying in his ability to just appear. He was a vampire; he had to be. There was no other explanation for his general demeanour. "A word."

Hermione sighed, reeling back the snark that sat on the tip of her tongue. There was no need to needlessly lose Gryffindor points just because Cormac had managed to use up her day's supply of polite tolerance. "Yes Professor." Hermione said, and then wordlessly followed the potions master.

She stood awkwardly in his office, wondering what on earth he could want to speak to her about. Last time she checked fighting was Draco was not against the rules, and was typical enough in their interactions for it to raise no eyebrows. "Why did you lie for Mr. Malfoy." Snape's words caught her off guard and caused her to blanche.

"I wasn't lying." She insisted, her features still paper white. "We got into a fight and-"

"You are an impressive liar Ms. Granger, but I know that is not true."

Hermione felt stupid, and she instantly flushed red. It made sense that Draco would tell Snape the truth; they had always been close. It also meant that Snape probably knew what was bothering Draco. "Why did you defend Mr. Malfoy? Since your first year at Hogwarts you two have done nothing but interrupt my course with your childish bickering."

Hermione opened her mouth to lie, and then closed it, considered carefully, and then said, "Something's wrong with Draco. I hate him, but something is really bothering him and you must know what it is, right?"

Snape regarded her carefully, and then he sat down. "You are not one of his friends, he would not confide in you." He spoke more to himself, but Hermione did not realise that and replied anyway.

"No, no. But I can just tell, and he refuses to speak to anyone. He's really scared professor." Draco would probably call her traitor for divulging this information to anyone, but she had to and she knew Snape was probably the most likely to actually help that proud twat.

Snape was not sure what to think of Hermione's knowledge of Draco's struggle. It might have come from pure observation; the girl was one of the brightest he had ever met, but that display at Slughorn's party and Draco's willingness to accept her help out of the situation suggested a relationship beyond pure mutual hatred. She had lied to everyone for him, and he had worked with her without argument. If he asked her directly, she would probably deny any contact with Draco beyond arguing.

"Draco is stubborn, more stubborn than I could ever imagine."

"So he's not told you anything either?" Hermione asked, her concern for him growing with the realisation that he truly was struggling alone.

"I have a favour to ask of you," Snape said, ignoring her question. "Keep an eye on Mr. Malfoy, he needs all the help and direction he can get." Snape could not believe he was saying this, but he had made a promise to protect the pig-headed boy. He would not have had to resort to this if only Draco would let him help, but no, the boy had to be vain and proud. He was definitely Lucius's son.

Hermione stared, not quite knowing what to say. 'Keep an eye on Draco'? How was she supposed to do that? He would not even talk to her. "I don't know what to do for him."

"Use your judgement." Snape said, he stood up and opened the door for her.

Hermione stared, flabbergasted. Her judgement? What did that even mean? She wanted to object, wanted to tell Snape that he had to give her more than that. But then she knew that Snape himself was not sure how to help Draco. "I'll try." She nodded.

…

He saw her sitting in a far corner of the library, almost completely hidden by towering bookshelves. It was late enough that the library was almost completely empty, and for that he was glad. Normally, he would have refused to sink to actively looking for her, but they would soon be leaving for Christmas break and he desperately wanted to speak with her before they left.

He sat down across from her, and said nothing. Hermoine, refusing to be made to recognise him first, kept on reading. After a few minutes Draco finally broke. "Granger."

She looked up slowly from her book, "Yes, Draco?"

"I didn't need you to lie for me. At Slughorn's party, I could have handled it on my own."

"Oh?" She said carefully, "I didn't know you were so upset about not being a part of his club. If you wanted an invitation that badly you could have just asked."

He was struggling with himself. "I was not crashing that ridiculous party."

"I know." Hermoine said returning to her books, "and anyone who knows you knows you would not be. I just thought you wouldn't want them asking what you were really doing in the hallway."

The silence between them stretched on. Hermione returned to her books, leaving Draco to squirm in his discomfort.

"Thank you." He finally said.

Hermione looked up from her book and smiled at him, "I only want to help, Draco. I don't know how to make you believe me."

"Why? Why do you want to help me? And none of that sanctimonious crap you Gryffindors like to spew."

She closed her book, folded her hands over it, and looked him dead in the eyes. Her eyes were not blackened with burning passion, or liquid brown pools threatening to spill over, they were just normal, plain, brown eyes; simple and common in every way. Just like the rest of her. Common, unremarkable Granger. "I want to help you, because," she paused for a moment, and then, typical of her, she did the brave thing and told the truth, "because I care about you. I don't know why, but I do and right now I'm very worried about you."

He did not even have to try; she was just so eager to trust. What an idiot. "I don't need help."

"Yes, you do and it seems like I'm the only one stubborn enough to not let you flounder alone."

"I'm not floundering." he began to yell, but he caught himself mid-sentence and lowered his voice before he could draw unwanted attention. "I'm fine." He pushed his chair back and stood up sharply. "I don't need you to care about me. Thank you for your sympathy, but keep it to yourself."

"You're impossible. I swear." Hermione said in exasperation. She looked down and flipped open her book, indicating that the conversation was over. Draco was more than happy to oblige.


End file.
